


services rendered

by jessamoo



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessamoo/pseuds/jessamoo
Summary: *smut fic*** for the prompt "maybe Victorians were the first to find out about the recreational uses of handcuffs"





	

**Author's Note:**

> idk if this turned out more angsty than i originally planned, but i always do that. my first fic for this fandom, hope you enjoy!

When he feels the clean, soft cotton of his shirt against his skin, he can almost pretend it is her hands.

He imagines her folding them neatly, slowly, that she would take her time and think about him. Sometimes he thinks he can almost smell her, sweet and sharp in the fabric that he now wrapped round his body. He would imagine it was her pressed against him. Her skin, the same soft, pale gossamer. Her hair the same as he tugged on it's golden strands.

And then jackson would blunder in, reeking of alcohol and squinting against the sun. Reid would think, don't you know I have your woman pressed against me, even now? Don't you know that in this, in this domestication, she is more my wife than yours? That the care she would never show to you, she yet shows to me? Susan was not as men thought wives ought to be. She was dark and cruel and master of herself. And yet she folded his laundry with care. This one concession, this one act that he knew she showed to no other, it bound her to him, to his body. He wished for it, a physical aching inside him for her then to remove the clothes she gave back to him.

He would feel small, painful flashes of guilt like sharp pinches every so often. When the sun caught the wedding band on Jackson's finger. When his low hum tavern brawl voice did soothe him along with a whiskey they shared. But Reid could not fully bring himself to regret the strange longing he felt for his friends wife. Nor could he excorcise those thoughts. He soon gave up trying. He let them creep in, more and more, burn under his skin.

He felt guilty about his own wife, about Deborah, about how he had felt this once before and acted upon it, to their detriment. But Susan was not so fragile as Emily, and not so kind as Deborah. He wouldn't want her so much if she were too kind. He would never be so arrogant as to assume that a man such as him could ever break her.

 

As he is shown into Tenter street he cannot help himself - his own home was empty and quiet. It's pale walls now devoid of any life, any colour. Colour was all that was to be seen at Tenter street. He wants to let it wash over him, the brightness, the heady scent of tobacco and sex. He wants to sink away on it and never come out again. A sailor, wrecked upon the island of the locust eaters, forgetting everything that came before.

When he is shown to her, it's almost how he pictured it. Susan is facing away from him, her hands resting against the desk in front of her. For some reason this bolsters him. He doesn't stand embarrased as he normally does. He quickly discards his hat and coat on a chair nearby and begins to approach her, feeling like he is in a dream.

She cocks her head when she hears his footsteps and turns slowly, like she could take as much time as she needed. She smiles at him - smirks, really, though all her smiles looked that way. She had something of the feral about her, barely contained. Claws flashing behind her eyes. 

"Inspector." She greets him lightly. "I had not expected to see you so soon. Surely you have not run out of clean shirts already?" The way she says this tells him she knows full well that isn't the reason for his visit. A good thing, since he barely knew the reason himself.

"No." He says, and his voice is far quieter and steady than he had anticipated.

Susan's face registers the smallest amount of surprise when he doesn't keep his usual distance. He keeps walking, stepping into her space so that she has to look up at him to see his face.

"Then please do enlighten me as to the reason for your visit." She says, deep and honeyed. He feels her breath against his cheek like a kiss and resists the urge to close his eyes.

"Perhaps I am simply not happy with the service you provided me with last."

She cocks an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"And perhaps I sought too..."

"Show me the consequences?" She finishes. She had been leaning back against the desk before, but now she stands abruptly. He doesn't move, and so her small lithe body bumps against his, and they stand there touching, breathing the same breaths.

It feels like neither of them move for a long time. 

Finally, they begin their slow progression of movements, the final part of the dance they had started long ago.

He moves his hand to rest against her forearm, wrapping his long fingers right around. Her whole arm fits inside his grip, like she was made to be held and moved by him.

He slowly trails his grip downwards, grasping at her wrist. She turns her head to look down and he leans in, smelling the perfume on her neck. His thumb grazes over the veins of her wrist and he hears her breath deeply.

When he kisses her, she equals his ferocity, raises it, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He pulls her against him, wanting to press her right into him, imprint her on his body.

But it is upstairs when that finally happens. The slow journey up the red carpets, the creaking floorboards, seems to go on forever. She doesn't touch him the whole time. The giggling and shouts and moans of the girls follow them. Eyes shift and pretend not to see. They are faceless to him anyway. He is blinded by a blue dress.

 

When he puts the handcuffs on her, her holds her wrists steady for a long moment. Feeling her pulse, her excited tremors as she waits beneath him. He wants to look down on her like this for a little longer. He wants to remember her letting him guide her arms up to the bed post, her eyes watching him.

Then he moves his hands down her bare skin, lightly, down her arms, over the dip of her collarbone. Her breasts, he hears her gasp as his thumb grazes her small pointed nipples.

She was the wound that had ripped through his world and invaded his mind, and now she was here underneath him, letting him touch her and have her. And he would.

His hands reach the bones of her hips, jutting out like mountains where she raised herself to meet him. He takes her sign and holds them, slipping his grip under them to her bottom where he squeezes. Susan opens her legs in response. She doesn't say a word - but he can hear her breath quickening, sees her pushing her shoulders back into her pillows and he knows she wants him as much as he wants her. He knows she feels the darkness that coiled around them in that room, like the metal biting into her wrists. They both welcome it.

He lifts her slightly and lowers his head. He breathes deeply against her thighs, kissing her there, sometimes just barely pressing his lips there. Until he finally reaches his destination. Until he finally tastes her and she writhes underneath him, lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders - his scarred shoulder - all so he could move his tongue deeper inside of her, feel the warmth on her, hear the metal of his handcuffs clinking. She lifts her hips and presses herself even further against him, rubbing herself on his mouth.

All the time she gasps and whimpers but she doesn't cry out. Doesn't moan for him the way he wants her to. So he moves back up her body, trailing kisses and juice all over her skin until he meets her mouth. She's still all he can taste and he kisses her deeply, grabbing hold of her face, her cheekbones like knives under his fingers.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you." He whispers, leaning down to kiss her breasts. She moves her face against his hair as best she can, her hands balling into fists above her head.

"You're the one who has me handcuffed, Reid. You can do whatever you want to me." She breathes with a smile.

But when he looks down at her again, in her eyes, she sees that this is what he wants. For her to admit her need for him. And so she gives this thing to him, softly, kissing the corner of his mouth to show him she understands.

"Well, first I want you to kiss me again." She says, the tinest smile on her face. "And then I want you inside me." She whispers. Her mouth is hot, she presses it first against his ear and then very lightly against the scar on his shoulder. It makes him desperate and frightened and he knows in that moment the only solace was the one that lay between her thighs.

And that's when Susan finally lets herself cry out. She moans as she urges him faster and deeper, his powerful body consuming hers as he holds on her hands. It's rough and loud and he feels that aching, hollow void inside of him, deep down, and he drives into her over and over, needing to fill that, needing to find any kind of peace from it.

He's holding her wholly against him now, he can feel his fingers pressing into the bumps of her spine, her skin wet with sweat against his as her legs wrap right around him.

They finish more or less the same time. She arches against him and he presses his face into the hollow between her breats as they gasp together like drowning souls coming up for air.

They both relax, exhausted and happy, his face pressed against her chest where he can feel the hummingbird beat of her heart. He stays inside her for a long moment before moving to reach up and remove her handcuffs. He can see small red marks against her wrists. She doesn't seem to mind though. She lets him kiss her there before she wraps her arms around him.

His arms move round her, and they lay entwined like that for a long time, curled and tangled up like animals.

 

Sunlight breaks through the window and so he is away once more to his work. His shirt is crumpled from where he had discarded it in his haste. He doesn't mind in the least. He doesn't even mind when Jackson shoots him strange looks all day, his intuition telling him something is wrong though he doesn't know what. Reid does not mind this. Because his shirt is rumpled. 

That means another visit to Susan would come soon enough.


End file.
